


Works well with others

by wtfkovah



Series: Sweater Vest Stories [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Awkwardness, Boss/Employee Relationship, Eventual Romance, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Out of Character, Pre-Slash, Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: Always be yourself.....except during job interviews.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: Sweater Vest Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736101
Comments: 65
Kudos: 344





	Works well with others

**Author's Note:**

> REUPLOAD

“Look at the queue.” Seokmin whistles as he pulls the car to a stop. “And not a single sweater vest in sight. Didn’t I say you were overdressed?”

Jihoon snaps his head to the side to scowl at him.

“Hey— _shut up_. It’s an interview, I need to make an impression. And anyway, you know how it goes,” He huffs, smoothing down the front of his sweater vest. “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”

Not that a job as a Personal Assistant is necessarily the job Jihoon _wants_. But being fresh out of college with a degree in Media Studies and zero prospective employers in said field, doesn’t really leave a guy with many options. He has rent and bills to pay, that debilitating human weakness called hunger to appease, and he has to do _something_ to chip away at that mountain of student debt he’s accumulated in the oh, _‘three years he’s been wasting his life away’_ , (his mother’s words, not his)

So, when the recruitment add for a personal assistant’s position came up, it was too good to refuse.

And despite what Seokmin or anyone else says or _thinks_ , being a PA is _not_ the same as being a Secretary.

Jihoon knows, Jihoon checked.

He checked twice in fact, because when Jihoon thinks ‘ _Secretary’_ he imagines himself sitting on the edge of some creepy old man’s desk in a pencil skirt, so a clear distinction is the first step in maintaining his pride.

Besides, only an idiot would turn their nose up on the job after seeing what it had to offer. There were plenty of perks: a decent monthly salary, (well—more decent than the going rate at Starbucks) healthcare insurance, 28 days paid vacation, travel expenses paid in full, employer pension contributions and all the other little benefits any other corporate employee could expect. 

He doesn’t have any experience being a personal assistant per se, but he’s held down a few jobs (just the one actually) during his studies and he can’t imagine the requirements are _that_ complicated. Just—do what you’re fucking told—essentially, and how hard can that be?

But he’s not the only person who got the same bright idea apparently, because the queue of applicants is approximately a mile long—stretching outside the front doors of the building and around the corner.

“You want me to wait for you?” Seokmin prompts.

Jihoon shakes his head, noting the numerous _‘No parking signs’_ on display. “Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want you to get a parking ticket. I’ll just message you when I finish.”

“Okay, well—” Seokmin thumps him in the shoulder, “Good luck. I hope you _dazzle_ them with your sweater vest.”

Jihoon gives him the middle finger as he climbs out of the car and slams the door shut.

He quickly joins the back of the queue, behind a guy with a man bun and a girl sipping on a Chai Latte. They’re talking in hushed voices, then turn to give him a slow look up and down.

It’s not a very friendly look, and it seems to linger on his sweater vest, like it doesn’t _mesh well_ with their— _man bun chai latte I had a green smoothie for breakfast while reading As I lay dying by William Faulkner as the sun rose over my twee cabin—_ aesthetic _._

Well—fuck them.

Jihoon pretends not to pay them any attention and _pretends_ to be busy on his phone as he waits.

Jihoon queues for approximately ten minutes, before the triple Ristretto shot he had to calm his jitters catches up with him. He doesn’t want to abandon his place in line, because even in the scant few minutes he’s been standing the queue has doubled in length, but his bladder just can’t wait apparently.

Deciding, to hell with it, he steps out of the queue and heads for the glass doors, slipping in behind a group of suited men and making a beeline for the bathrooms at the end of the lobby.

He can’t have been gone more than a few minutes, but when he returns the queue of applicants stretching outside the door has completely vanished.

Trying not to panic, he approaches the security guard seated behind the entrance desk.

“Hello, I’m here for the job interview they’re holding today, if you’d be so kind as to direct me to where I need to go.”

The guard lifts his head, takes one look at his sweater vest and slides a visitor’s badge and sign in book towards him. Once Jihoon signs his name and clips the badge on, the guard directs him to the bank of elevators at the end of the lobby.

“Exit on the 36th floor and turn right. The waiting room’s at the end of the corridor—Mr Choi’s receptionist will check you in there.”

Mr Choi’s receptionist has an entirely different view on the matter.

“I’m sorry, but your name’s not on the list of candidates Mr Choi was expecting today.” She says matter-of-factly.

“Are you sure?” Jihoon looks on disbelievingly until the receptionist, with an air of great indulgence, turns the screen around so he can see for himself.

And fair enough, it’s— _yeah_. Dammit.

The schedule is neatly annotated with a dozen or so appointments, but his name is _not_ among them.

“But I got a confirmation letter and everything.” Jihoon murmurs, slumping in on himself a little. “I even bought this sweater vest so that I would look professional.”

The receptionist levels him a deeply sympathetic look, that crumples into something conflicted a moment later.

“You know what, I bet you it’s just the new scheduling software we had installed; your details were probably wiped out by a computer error or something. It happens—” She smiles, swinging the screen back around. Her fingers fly over the keyboard, “I’m just going to slot you back in, and I’m sure Mr Choi doesn’t mind seeing _one_ extra person. At the rate these candidates are dropping out, we’ll be opening interviews again anyway.”

Jihoon brightens, relieved, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

The receptionist smiles at him and his sweater vest, tapping away on the computer, “That should do it—” She says, then gestures towards the door across from her desk, “If you’d like to proceed into the waiting room, it shouldn’t be long before you’re called.”

* * *

The waiting room is marginally full, with well dressed people Jihoon doesn’t remember seeing queued outside. Man-Bun and Chai Latte Girl are nowhere in sight, but if that’s not enough cause for celebration, he doesn’t stand out in his sweater vest anymore. There’s at least three other men sporting sweater vests here.

Smiling, he takes the nearest available seat, smoothes an imaginary wrinkle from his suit jacket, and notes with pleasure that the man seated next to him is _also_ wearing a sweater vest.

Jihoon feels at home amongst his sweater vest brethren.

“Hi. I’m Jihoon,” He starts with a smile, “I like your sweater vest.”

The man startles, shoots him a disdainful looks and promptly moves seats.

Jihoon stares after him in wounded abandonment, until someone nudges his elbow.

“Ignore him.” A voice murmurs in his ear.

Jihoon turns his head to his other side to find a man has _oozed_ into the seat next to him; a tall man, with long blonde hair scraped back into a neat ponytail and a look of cutting intelligence. He’s immaculately dressed in a dove grey suit and a cashmere sweater vest that Jihoon rather envies, and he even has one of those _fancy_ leather folders on his lap, embossed with the initials Y-J in gold stitching.

It makes Jihoon a little self-conscious about the cheap plastic wallet he’s totting around.

“A lot of these guys don’t like idle chit-chat before an interview.” The man snorts, shaking his head sadly. “They’re nervous, afraid they’ll say too much, that _someone_ will steal their ground-breaking ideas and use it to get the upper-hand during their _own_ interview. Pathetic really.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise it would be so competitive.” Jihoon wonders out loud. He gives a half shrug, “It’s just a job at the end of the day.”

The man scoffs, side eyeing Jihoon like he’s said something extremely controversial, “Best job in the _city_!” He relaxes back into his seat a little, crossing his legs, “Well, _second best._ Choi’s always going to be the top of the food chain—but a lot of these people have been waiting their whole lives for a chance to work closely with him. Once this position gets filled, who _knows_ when another such opportunity will come up.”

Jihoon shifts his gaze to span the room, curious all of sudden at who he’ll be competing with for this position.

There are seven other candidates waiting their turn, all refined and impeccably dressed, all noticeably older than him, and all looking disturbingly fidgety in their seats. One man’s actually bitten his lip raw, and another seems to be muttering a prayer under his breath.

It doesn’t feel like they’re waiting to be interviewed for a job as a PA—it feels like they’re waiting to _die_.

“Wow.” Jihoon whispers out of the side of his mouth. “I feel like a bit of an imposter. Everyone looks like this interview will make or break their career and I’m not even sure I _want_ to work here.”

The tall blonde gives Jihoon a closer look, his expression open and friendly, his brown eyes shrewd, assessing, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you _do_ seem to be very young. Or is uh—that your _tactic_? Fool everyone into thinking you’d fresh out of college and then dazzle them with your expertise later.” He suggests with a wink.

Jihoon blinks at him, “But—I _am_ just fresh out of college.”

The man scrutinizes him for a moment, a mix of curiosity and disbelief in his expression. Then his features resolve into something amused, and he laughs. “Aha—good one. I almost fell for that.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to clarify that was _not_ a joke, but the guy twists in his seat and holds out his hand, “I’m Yoon Jeonghan by the way, COO at Doosan Engineering.”

“I’m Lee Jihoon—” Jihoon introduces himself back, also adding, “Night shift supervisor at Starbucks.”

Jeonghan’s mouth tilts up wryly, “Funny guy huh? Well—that’s a good attitude to have. Hopefully it’ll shield you from the resume assassination you’re about to sit through.”

“Resume assassination?” Jihoon echoes.

Jeonghan expression twists into a grimace, “Yeah—Choi Seungcheol is _not_ an easy guy to impress from what I’ve been told. That’s kind of the reason why I pushed myself to apply for the position in the first place, because I _needed_ a challenge. But I’m almost beginning to doubt myself now; the last two guys who walked out that door had honest to god _tears_ in their eyes.”

“Seriously?” Jihoon whispers, just as the door swings open and a brunette in skyscraper heels and smudged-to-hell mascara comes rushing out. She’s sniffing loudly, and stops by the door to fling her leather-bound resume in the waste basket.

Jihoon experiences a deep wave of sympathy for the poor woman. Then a deeper wave of sympathy for his poor _self_. He’s only interviewed for one job his entire life, and demonstrating that he was capable of not scalding himself with hot milk was hardly an interview by any means. He’s not ready for some cold ass corporate shit head to tear into him because his resume is lacking. He just wanted a nice easy job fetching coffee, making reservations and redirecting calls; who knew the personal assistant scene was so cut-throat?

The door to the waiting room swings open then, and the receptionist pokes her head in to say, “Mr Lee? Mr Choi will see you now.”

Jihoon smiles back at her, weakly, then turns his head to hiss at Jeonghan, “Oh no. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

Jeonghan pats him on the knee genially, “You’ll be fine. Make him laugh. Laughter _always_ wins people over.”

Frozen for a split-second, Jihoon takes a deep breath and forces his legs to move.

There is nothing else to do, really, but try. 

* * *

There’s a long corridor between the waiting room and the office, with such pristine white walls and shiny marble floors that walking down it feels like a near-death experience minus the pool of light and Saint Peter at the end.

The corner office Jihoon steps into is at least twice the size of the apartment he shares with Seokmin. Terrifying in the way that all ultra-successful corporate things inherently are if you aren’t used to them. Two of the walls are windows, and sunlight floods in, the fiery orange flare of late afternoon, glinting off the chrome and glass furniture, making everything glow. 

Including the man standing behind the desk.

Jihoon had been expecting Mr Choi to be an older man in his early 60’s—a little greasy, a little oily, a little stout in a pinstripe suit, with what little hair he had left greying at the temples and possibly the ability to shoot _lasers_ out of his eyes.

What Jihoon _didn't_ account for is the fact that Mr Choi is so SMOKING HOT that the moisture in Jihoon’s mouth promptly evaporates and all the blood in his body pools in his _groin_.

Seriously though _,_ who in the _world_ is this fucking good-looking? 

Mr Choi is not in his 60’s.

Jihoon doubts he’s even in his 40’s!

And he’s not at all greasy, or oily or stout either. He’s a modern streamlined Adonis; all slicked back dark hair and full lips and fuck-off broad shoulders. He’s tall and handsome and polished in the crisp lines of his dark suit and Jihoon _wants_.

It hits him low in the gut, forceful and sudden.

Mr Choi’s laser shooting abilities are still up for debate, but his inclination _to_ shoot said lasers seems to dissipate the longer he stares at Jihoon. His eyes slide up and down Jihoon’s body slowly, before settling on somewhere in the vicinity of his sweater vest. As much as Jihoon is sadly used to that by now, for some reason _Mr Choi’s_ deliberate once over makes his ears _burn_.

He realises there and then that he’s _absolutely_ 110% ready to wear a pencil skirt if the job required it.

Jesus, he’d wear heels too.

Determinedly pushing the thought away, Jihoon plasters on what he hopes is a competent and professional smile and attempts to introduce himself.

“Hello, I’m—" 

_“Lee Jihoon—”_ Mr Choi interjects with a drawl, and _w o a h_.

It's like Mr Choi’s been sitting here, practicing all the different ways he can say Jihoon's name that will make Jihoon's spine melt. This might just be version #1: the one where he thinks he's Clint Eastwood.

Jihoon stares at him numbly, then visibly shakes himself out. “Yes, that’s me. I’m Lee Jihoon. Nice to meet you,” He says offering his hand. 

Mr Choi doesn’t offer his hand back. Rude. In fact, he doesn’t respond to Jihoon’s introduction beyond a single raised eyebrow.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” Jihoon rambles on, letting his hand drop to his side, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a desperate bid to fill the growing tension in the room, “I know you’re a very busy man and I—”

Mr Choi rolls his eyes at Jihoon’s lame attempt at non-awkward conversation, waving an impatient hand to cut him off. “You seem to have convinced my receptionist to schedule you in last minute, but _why_ haven’t I heard of you before?”

“I dunno, _should_ you have?” Jihoon says, as coolly as he can when his heart is beating so hard his throat hurts.

Should he have emailed ahead? Introduced himself maybe? Given a little background info on his qualifications and experience? He figures that would be something they’d cover _during_ the interview, not before.

Mr Choi grits his teeth, then gestures with a wide hand at the chair in front of his desk before sliding back into his own.

“Time is money, Mr Lee. And I _don’t_ like my time wasted.” He says as Jihoon quickly takes his seat. “Ideally, I would have liked to know everything about you _before_ you even stepped foot in this office. But I’m making this concession as I can’t exactly fault _you_ for a blip in _our_ computer scheduling system.”

Jihoon doesn’t know what to say to that, or if he’s supposed to say _anything_. Instead he looks down at Mr Choi’s long, strong fingers tapping on the polished mahogany of his desk. Mr Choi pauses to shuffle some papers around on his desk, then levels Jihoon a dark look. “I don’t even _have_ a copy of your CV.”

Jihoon looks up from the fingers jerkily, “I—I did forward one to the email address specified,” He murmurs, and has to stop himself from actually wringing his hands and reach for his carefully assembled folder. “But I have an extra copy here, if you like?” He says, pulling out a print-out of his measly CV and handing it over.

All three pages of it. Single sided.

Mr Choi accepts the CV with a frown, then begins reading through the covering letter with large, startled eyes, taking the entirely vague summary or relevant skills and prior experience with complete seriousness.

Then he turns the page and his eyes _saucer_.

“It’s says here you’re 22.”

Jihoon purses his lips, “I _am_ 22.”

Mr Choi looks up from the papers in his hands and into Jihoon’s eyes, one eyebrow perfectly raised.

“Is this some kind of joke, or are you some kind of business minded prodigy?”

Jihoon swallows hard.

God, he’s _fucked_. Mr Choi’s eyes are deep and dark, unbending, hard and calculating.

“Prodigy? No—I don’t think so. I mean—someone once said I was legendary because I made them this awesome hot chocolate off menu. It has mini marshmallows, with three layers of whipped cream and a flake on top—but I also think they might have been slightly high at the time, so I didn’t take that comment to heart.”

Mr Choi’s other eyebrow arches to meet the first one.

He _seems_ to be listening attentively—if somewhat disbelievingly. He stares at Jihoon for a solid minute after he stops talking, then shakes his head and turns his attention back to the resume, paging slowly through it, concentration pinching his forehead.

“Under prior employment you’ve listed— _Night shift supervisor at Starbucks?”_ He reads aloud, and it’s as clear as day that he doesn’t believe Jihoon is capable of being a shift supervisor. Not at all.

“Yes, yes I was.” Jihoon hurries to confirm, “That’s where I made the legendary hot chocolate.”

“Is that so,” says Mr Choi; it isn’t a question.

Jihoon doesn’t have a lot of interview experience, but he thinks— _thinks_ that’s an opening for him to talk about himself?

Or maybe not. But he’s going to take it anyway.

“Yeah, I’ve been working there for about three years. First as a trainee, but I was quickly promoted to a full time Barista and then to a store shift supervisor. I would have qualified for a promotion as an assistant store manager if I was working full time, but uhm—I kinda had to fit it in around college, and I really didn’t see myself working there long term anyway.”

Mr Choi squints at him, concerned. Jihoon doesn’t know what to _do_ with that look. 

“And before that you were—” Mr Choi, flips to next and last page of his CV, “A volunteer at your local library.” The disdain drips off Seungcheol’s words like syrup.

Jihoon squirms in his seat, discomfited. As fine-looking and striking as Choi Seungcheol is, he’s also a bit of a dick. 

Jihoon tries not to take it personally, because maybe the guy’s testing his resolve or something?

Maybe he should talk about himself some more?

Yeah.

It’s time to really _sell_ himself.

“Yes, I appreciate it was only a voluntary position, but the organisational expertise I gained from it was invaluable. I actually developed a really novel coding system that simplified the previous outdated one they had in place. And I don’t wanna toot my own horn here, but I believe the word the chief librarian used to describe it was _ground-breaking.”_

Mr Choi blinks at him, then adopts an offended tone. “And—you think _this_ qualifies you for the position?”

Jihoon can’t help but wring his hands together now. “Well—I was hoping so. I know I don’t have any _specific_ experience as a personal assistant, but everyone has to start somewhere. Right? And—I’m a really fast learner and I can adapt to new challenges and environments, and I figured I could pick up on the other skills I need _on_ the job.”

Mr Choi stiffens and looks over at him, mouth slightly open, and eyebrows up, in the universal expression for ‘gob smacked’. “Personal assistant?”

Jihoon swallows thickly, nodding, “Yeah. I think I’d be very good at it, if—if you gave me a chance.”

“You—”Mr Choi stops short, then he presses his lips into a thin, tense line, “Right—right. _Of course,”_ He breathes, slumping back into his seat.

Jihoon keeps his eyes forward as Mr Choi flips through his papers again—silent, waiting. Whenever the Mr Choi happens to glance his way, he plasters on a big, false smile.

Mr Choi in turn seems to have lost his cool edge, and smiles back, _warmly_.

Jihoon wonders if nerves are making him imagine it, but he could _swear_ there’s something undeniably soft in the man’s eyes when he looks at him.

They do the quiet smile and stare thing back and forth for a while, until Mr Choi finally sets down his CV and bites at his knuckled fist, like he has a very difficult decision to make or something.

Jihoon can tell he’s thinking really, really hard.

“Well, Mr Lee—” He finally says, steepling his hands front of him. “In light of the information you’ve shared with me today, I must say your resume is….very promising.”

Jihoon blinks, because the sudden change in Mr Choi’s mood is totally going to give him whiplash.

“ _Really_?” 

Mr Choi brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He looks….he looks pained?

“Yes—” Mr Choi nods, a thoughtful look in his eyes though his voice comes out oddly _strained_. “I am very, very impressed. I’m going to take some time to review your resume and discuss with my HR team, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.” He adds, standing to offer his hand.

Jihoon scrambles to his feet to accept it. “Wow, okay. That’s great to hear. Thank you.” He says, then shifts awkwardly in place, unsure of whether it would be impolite to just flee the office.

The interview’s over, right? It’s safe for him to go.

Tucking his folder under his arm, he turns towards the door, only to turn back again hesitantly.

“Uh—can I ask for some feedback?” He croaks, because this has been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, but _knowing_ what he said right and what he didn’t could prove invaluable. “This is my first real interview and I was really nervous, and if there’s anything you can think of that would help me improve how I come across, I’d love to hear it.”

And no, he’s _definitely_ not imagining it anymore. Mr Choi is giving him the super soft eyes, like Jihoon’s a small kitten in a sweater vest that’s wondered into his office by accident or something.

“Nothing. You were perfect.” He says, surprisingly sincere.

The relief is so potent Jihoon thinks he might choke on it. He can barely get out, “R-really?”

Mr Choi’s smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Yes, you came across very genuine, and sincere and incredibly modest, and that’s what employers look for. Also, bonus points on the sweater vest.”

Jihoon ducks his head to inspect his attire. “You don’t think it was too much? My friend said it was too much.”

This only makes Mr Choi smile wider. “Not at all. It’s precious. Uh, I mean— _professional_.”

Jihoon feels a blush spread over the bridge of his nose, “Thank you for the opportunity Mr Choi.” He says, bowing politely before he heads towards the door.

Mr Choi said his sweater vest was precious.

If he has a funny feeling in his stomach at the thought …well, that’s probably the beginnings of acid reflux. He really should see a doctor about it.

* * *

Jihoon practically skips out of the interview room, making some effort not to look obnoxiously triumphant.

He has many skills; feigning an absence of smugness is not chief among them.

He passes Jeonghan in the waiting on the way out, who levels him a curious look that seems to say, _‘Well? How did it go?’_

Jihoon grins at him, offering a little thumbs up, because that went very well, he thinks. Jeonghan smirks and offers him a gracious thumbs up in return.

Jihoon wishes him the best of luck, really, but there’s no _way_ he’ll top Jihoon’s interview.

That job is his!

Taking the elevator down to the bottom floor, Jihoon approaches the admittance desk to return his visitors badge and sign out, only to find the lobby jammed with people. There’s over thirty of them, milling around the spare seats and sipping on vending machine coffee, looking anxious and agitated. 

Jihoon unclips his badge and slides it over to the security guard before asking, “What’s going on? Why are there so many people all of a sudden?”

“Oh, that?” The guard snorts, taking the badge and sliding over the sign-in book, “That’s just the spill-over for the personal assistant position they advertised. Every college grad and their _mother_ applied, and there wasn’t enough seats in the waiting room for them all. So they’re waiting out here now _too_.” He says, and for a moment gravity loses its grip on Jihoon, and he's dizzy— _dizzy_ with disbelief.

He presses both hands to the desk and regulates his breathing in an attempt to calm himself, “Wait-wait a minute. So, who was _Mr Choi_ interviewing today?”

“The boss?” The guard says, raising an eyebrow. “The Vice CEO position—what else? It’s the only post high enough for him to give a shit about.”

Jihoon _feels_ more than sees realization smack him right in the forehead. Possibly because he face-plants right into the admittance desk in complete and utter _mortification_.

“Is something wrong?” The guard asks warily, sliding the book out from under Jihoon’s forehead.

Jihoon straightens up, face pale—except for where the desk pen has imprinted on his face. “Oh, nothing. I just really, _really_ need a drink.”

* * *

“You’re like the worst best friend ever—this isn’t funny.” Jihoon says lazily, eyes closed, sprawled in his chair. He’s feeling a little less like throwing himself under a bus now. Now that's he had a gallon or so of scotch.

“This will never be _not_ funny Jihoon. I’m sorry. But you—you—” Seokmin bursts into another peel of laughter while Jihoon finishes the last of his latest drink.

He sets the glass down with a quiet thud, then stares down at the ice cubes, in a terrible mood. “I can’t believe I actually boasted about the compliment some stoner gave me over a hot chocolate I made. I boasted about it—to the CEO of a _multibillion_ dollar corporation. Ugh—why did I think that was worth sharing?”

“You boasted about working in the library _too_.” Seokmin chimes in, raising his glass in not-solidarity.

Jihoon rolls his head on the back of the booth, frustrated. “Ugh—I just. _Ugh_ , I feel so stupid. God! Why did I have to be so stupid!”

“ _Choi Corp_ Jihoon—Choi Corp.” Seokmin repeats, for the umpteenth time, “Didn’t you think it was _weird_ to be interviewed by the man himself?”

Jihoon runs a hand through his hair, “A little, yeah—but I figured maybe he wants to interview his own personal assistant. And I mean, why wouldn’t he _say_ something? Why didn’t he just say, ‘stop—you’re clearly in the wrong place. Get out!’. Why did he let me talk _shit_ at him for ten minutes?”

Seokmin coughs into his hand, clearly attempting to stave off more laughter. “He probably didn’t want to embarrass you. I mean— _I_ wasn’t there, and I’m very embarrassed for you. It was probably worse from his point of view. He was probably worried you’d off yourself in his office if you realised.”

Jihoon slumps down further in his seat until he’s eye level with the table, “I’m never going for another interview again.”

Seokmin sighs across the table, “Don’t say that—”

“I’m not.” Jihoon persists, irritated. “I’m just gonna go back to Starbucks and make hot chocolate for stoners for the _rest of my life._ Nobody can convince me otherwise. _”_

Seokmin glances down at Jihoon's drink before giving him a sympathetic look. "I'm getting another one. What do you want?"

"Scotch, neat," answers Jihoon, pushing his empty glass to the edge of the table with two fingers.

The incoming call alert chimes on Jihoon’s phone as Seokmin steps away with their empty glasses, and Jihoon checks it in a daze. He doesn’t recognise the number, but he suspects it’s a response to the desperately worded message he sent his Store manager, _begging_ for his job back, so he answers, prepared to grovel if necessary. 

“Hello?”

“Good evening Mr Lee, It’s Choi Seungcheol—”

Jihoon shoots upright, suddenly on high alert.

 _Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap_ —he thinks, stomach churning.

He _may_ also share that thought out loud because there’s a huff of amusement on the other end of the line before Mr Choi asks, “Something the matter?”

Jihoon tries not to let discomfort seep into his voice, but this isn’t one of those situations you can ever be prepared for enough to reign it in.

“No—I just, really, really, _really_ didn’t expect you to call.” He tries not to squeak and fails.

It’s a good thing the seat across from him is empty, because if Seokmin was here to overhear his squeaking–that’s too much mortification for one day. Jihoon’s daily quota has been officially met, thank you very much.

There is a long pause; then:

“Well, I did say I’d get back to you—” Mr Choi prods slowly, as though speaking to a particularly thick idiot who waltzed into the wrong interview.

“I know, but that was before I—” Jihoon swallows noisily around the lump in his throat, embarrassment and shame throttling him quiet for a moment.

“Mr Choi—listen, I’m so sorry for wasting your time like that earlier. I realised pretty much as soon as I left that I’d walked into the wrong interview, and I’m so, so embarrassed about it. So mortified, like you would not _believe_. But thank you for not calling security to drag me out, or laughing me out of the room. That would _definitely_ have been more humiliating then what I’m going through now.” He finishes with a sheepish laugh, trying to keep it from sounding as crazy as he feels. He isn’t sure that he succeeds.

On the other end of the line, the silence grows to nearly overwhelming proportions before Mr Choi deigns to break it, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I actually called to _offer_ you a job Mr Lee.”

“What?” Jihoon gasps, because he’s sure he’s heard that wrong. Pretty damn sure.

Except for where Mr Choi goes on to say, “The position’s yours, if you want it.”

Jihoon’s mouth falls open and he makes an involuntary startled sound. And oh, it's stupid. He shouldn't. But he hears himself blurt, “Oh my god, are you actually going to make me Vice CEO of your company?”

“What? Jesus, no—No, I’m—”

Jihoon can hear Mr Choi sputtering down the line, laughing his head off.

He narrows his eyes.

Okay, so _yeah_ —that was a stupid question and probably deserved a laugh, but does Mr Choi have to be _quite_ so over-the-top about it.

Mr Choi stops laughing, finally, only to breath a quiet, “God, you’re cute.”

Jihoon huffs out an irritated snort, ignoring the warm, liquid sensation in the pit of his stomach, determined that it must be his acid reflux acting up again.

“The vacancy you were attempting to apply for was for one of the senior managers that work below me. That vacancy _is_ still open, but I was hoping you’d consider a more _challenging_ prospect and be _my_ personal assistant instead.”

Jihoon’s so numb with shock, his phone slips out of his grip. He quickly fumbles for it a second later, bringing it back up to his ear in time to hear Mr Choi continue.

“There’ll be a higher salary on offer of course, and an improved benefits package since my job is more demanding than most and my workload reflects on your workload. But I’m sure you’ll manage, what with all your—prior _organisational expertise.”_

Jihoon does a whole body flinch, _“Please_ don’t quote my embarrassing crap back at me.” He groans. 

Mr Choi snorts in his ear, that adopts a more serious tone, “I should also mention I’ve uh—never _had_ a personal assistant before. Frankly, I’ve never really liked the idea of someone following me around all day, but you’ve _somewhat....warmed_ me to the idea, and I’d like to give it a try.”

Jihoon can't quite keep the note of disbelief out of his voice. “R— _really_?”

That earns him a soft sigh. “Yes, _really._ So," Mr Choi pauses to clear his throat, " _Will you accept?”_

“I don’t know to say, this is so weird and unexpected,” Jihoon says slowly, with confused reluctance, and then blurts out, "I mean, Yes. Please. I would love the opportunity.” Half-afraid that the offer might suddenly disappear, that the last five minutes of his life is possibly just a figment of his imagination.

Mr Choi’s warm laugh on the other end of the line is real though.

It really is a nice sound, Jihoon can't help noticing.

“Great. Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Bright and early. Oh, and bring me one of those hot chocolates you were waxing so poetically about. They better be as legendary as you say they are.”

“Yes, boss. Sir. Mr Choi.” Jihoon fumbles awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I have no idea how to address you.” He murmurs, dying of mortification on the inside.

This surprises another laugh out of Mr Choi, and then an equally warm, “Seungcheol is fine. Just call me Seungcheol.”

There’s a lump in Jihoon’s throat, but he manages to swallow around it enough to say, “Okay,” and then, “Thank you Seungcheol,” Before ending the call.

Fuck, what is his _life_.

“Who was that?” Seokmin asks, sliding back into the booth and sliding another drink Jihoon’s way. 

Jihoon stares at the phone in his hand numbly for a moment, before he’s compelled to navigate into the ‘Recent calls’ menu and save Seungcheol’s contact details into his phone.

There. Done. Okay.

He’s got a new job.

Awesome.

Oh god! What the fuck is he going to _wear_?

“So, new plan.” He says, pocketing his phone and pushing his drink aside. “I need you to help me pick out more sweater vests.”


End file.
